Pygmalion Unbound (9 page)

Off to the right, a small sound inaudible to human ears but she heard it clearly, the soft rub click of a metal switch (safety switch) — ambush. She skidded to a halt, went hard right as the three camouflaged figures rose from behind a fallen tree. She ducked as the whine of the lasers sounded (
rush into ambush, don’t run away from it
) closing the distance with unnatural speed and then she was at the tree, vaulting, somersaulting over it on pure reflex, landing behind the three and snapping the rifle from one of them, falling back and dropping to her knees and getting off seven shots, scored as mortal, before the three had a chance to fully turn around to face her.

“You’re dead,” she said flatly, standing.

“You’re not supposed to — ” one of the men, a dark-skinned corporal, said incredulously.

“Fight back? My programming’s changed. Give me the weapons. All of them.” They hesitated. She jabbed at one of them with the rifle. “Now.”

They complied, handing over their rifles and one 9mm automatic with holster. “And the comm units.” She put one of units in her ear, crushed the other two in her hand, and quickly fastened the 9mm holster to her belt. She disabled the rifles, removing the laser batteries and hurled them into the scrub brush, and jammed the rifles into the dirt barrel first. She turned and disappeared into the trees.

Topo maps in her mind, current position
here
, good positions for ambush
here
, a butte over
there
perfect for observation and a rough trail up the back
here
— programming took over, tactical manuals wired into her, directive — survival:primarygoal:eliminate enemy forces. She broke through the tree line, heading for the butte.

A bespectacled corporal hunched over a glowing laptop screen. “Lost Conway’s squad.”

Danner, who had been standing under the tent, talking with the two generals, paused and turned, a puzzled look on her face. Crane stood beside her. Kelly and Franklin were off by themselves, avoiding the uniforms.

“Lost?”

“All but one comm unit and rifle disabled. No responses.”

“Malfunction? Dead? Injured?” Her voice raised in pitch.

“Can’t tell. The sensors registered simulated lethal hits just before they went offline. After that…”

“Shit — ” Danner whispered. She had been at Aberdeen Proving Grounds four years ago when a robotic gun carriage had malfunctioned, the target acquisition software mistaking the civilian and military observers for the downrange targets. Three dead, twenty injured, and the project shelved in the wake of the avalanche of bad publicity.

“Software problem?” Danner asked.

“She’s not programmed for offensive action,” Crane said. “She knows they’re not armed.”

“Warn the other units. She may be dangerous,” Danner said.

“We don’t know she’s done them any harm.”

“I’m not taking chances,” Danner replied curtly.

“Here she comes,” Gutierrez said. “No bra — man, look at them titties bounce.”

“Get your mind on the mission, Gutierrez,” groused Sergeant Walter George. They were concealed, with three other soldiers, behind scrub brush on the top of the butte.

“She
is
the mission. I’m scouting the territory.” Gutierrez leered, went back to watching the black-clad woman who was now about two hundred yards from the ridge. “Hey, she’s got an M4 on her.”

“Hardly evens it up,” Corporal Jason Veach said.

“They didn’t say nothing about her attacking us. Just supposed to get past us.”

“She’s headin’ up the back.” George gave a signal, and the five men rose into a crouch and hurried to the western edge of the butte, found a rock outcropping for cover, and waited.

“The hell is she?” Gutierrez whispered.

“Give her a minute,” George said, flicking the safety off his M4.

A soft whine and lights began flashing on George’s wrist comm unit. Four red flashing lights, four dead grunts. He turned around and saw the girl standing there in a perfect Weaver stance with the 9mm. She holstered the gun quicker than George would have believed possible.

“Up,” she commanded. “Hand over the comms. And the guns. And those,” she pointed to the small spheres hanging from Gutierrez’s equipment harness. Still surprised, the five complied. She ground the earpieces to bits under her boot. Her delicately fingered hands flew over the M4s, disabled them, removing the laser power supply and leaving George and his unit with four clubs. They could only stand in shock as she turned and sprinted away.

“George’s squad just went offline.” The corporal pointed to the screen, where five boxes blinked red. “Fatal hits on all of them, within three seconds. Comm units out, rifles disabled.”

“She took them out,” Crane said quietly.

“Three seconds, five targets. Good shooting.” One of the generals said. “She’s showing initiative.”

“But she’s not supposed to — at least not this way.” Crane looked over at Franklin, who was huddled, smiling, with Kelly in the shade of a piñon tree. He felt his leg stiffen, spasm, and he fought it back as the world spun out of control.

She almost missed them in the scrub brush under a cedar grove. The scent of man, though, was distinct and could not be covered. She skidded to a halt on the trail, plucked three of the grenades from her belt, and tossed them in a 180-degree spread, and then fell prone and began laying down fire. Three loud beeps signaled the grenade detonations, immediately followed by electronic pings that guided her shots. She ceased firing, stood, walked forward, and then halted. A wire was strung along the path, leading to a mock claymore mine. She stepped over it, held her rifle at ready as the five men — a sergeant, corporal, and three privates, all combat veterans from Iraq to Afghanistan to Sudan to Oaxaca — rose with puzzled looks on their faces. She stripped them of their comms and weapons, carefully picked her way through the trail and out into the sunlight.

“Now Halford’s squad is out.”

“She must be using the comm she took from Conway, monitoring transmissions,” Danner said tightly. “Tell them to maintain radio silence.” The corporal gave the remaining soldiers her warning.

“If she has it, we can communicate with her,” Crane said. “See why she’s overriding her programming.” He motioned to the corporal, who handed over his headset.

“It’s an open channel,” Danner reminded Crane. “Keep it secure.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Crane muttered. “This is going balls-up anyway, I can’t make it any worse.” He adjusted the mouthpiece. “Maria…this is Doctor Crane. I know you can hear me. You have one of the communications earpieces from our soldiers. I want to talk to you.”

Silence for several tense moments. Kelly and Franklin had picked up on the general air of a fubar in progress, and had joined him under the tent behind the Humvee.

“I’m here,” her voice came over the earpiece, clear and undistorted.

“Maria, we seem to have a bit of a problem with the exercise.”

“What is that, Doctor Crane?”

“Well…ah, you were supposed to simply evade the soldiers, not engage them.”

“I recall those orders,” she said evenly.

“And from what our sensors are telling us here, you have so far managed to eliminate three squads.” Silence on the other end, she was waiting for him to draw her out. “I was wondering if you could tell me why you have decided to exceed your programming.”

Another pause, as if she were carefully choosing her words. “I am equipped with other programming, Doctor Crane. The soldiers represent a threat to me — ”

“They aren’t armed with bullets or real grenades, Maria.”

“A future threat to me, and to the others who will follow me. A threat to our collective future existence and well-being.”

One of the generals muttered, “Christ, she’s figured out pre-emptive war doctrine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kelly and Franklin exchange looks, and heard Danner’s sharp intake of breath. He felt his own teeth clench and his jaw set. “I’m not sure what you mean, Maria. How does following your programming mean danger for you later and these other — others that aren’t even on the drawing boards yet?”

“You don’t put
people
on drawing boards, Doctor Crane.”

“You’re imagining things, Maria, creating problems where they don’t exist.” He turned to Kelly, frantically gesturing for her to come over and help him talk his creation out of her insubordination. Kelly left Franklin’s side, joined Crane. “Put it on speaker,” he told the corporal.